


We're painted red, to fit right in

by mornmeril



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mating, Pseudoscience, Soul Bond, Vampire Politics, vampire!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mornmeril/pseuds/mornmeril
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the face of the ever-escalating restrictions on vampires, Enjolras does the only thing he's ever known. He rises up to fight and does his utmost to encourage everyone else to do the same. But things cannot always go his way, as much as he wants them to.</p><p> <i>“They’re showing this on the state network?” Enjolras interrupted, momentarily distracted by the importance of that statement.</i><br/><i>Grantaire’s mouth turned down and his gaze slid away once more, back to where Enjolras was still bleeding, his fingers gentle as they probed the wound. “Of course this is what you’d take away from what I just said,” he muttered, bitterly. As so often with Grantaire, Enjolras regretted having spoken and cursed his inability to say the right thing when it came to this man. “Yes, you’re on TV. Live. But this is really not the time to get excited about that, alright? We need to get out of here. They’re targeting you, because you’re the leader. And you’re not exactly inconspicuous.” Grantaire gave Enjolras’ red jacket a pointed look.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so where to start with this? I have several apologies to make, but first things first:
> 
> This was written as a backup fill as part of the [Enjoltaire Gift Exchange](http://enjoltairechallenges.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr for [lamarcelaise](http://lamarcelaise.tumblr.com). The prompt was vampire!Enjolras - I really, really hope you like it and that it's at least a little like what you wanted <3!
> 
> Okay, so first of all: I'm terribly sorry for the first, like, 3,000 words or so, which are basically just world-building. I briefly thought of putting a huge note at the beginning of the story, but then I though that would be kind of lazy and boring (at least more so than it is already *cringe*), so I tried to tie it all in, because leaving it out completely would've just left you all horribly confused.
> 
> The second thing is the utter lack of Grantaire for the first half of the story - which is on purpose, but i know it might seem a bit strange. I really do hope that the second half makes up for it. You'll have to trust me that he'll turn up eventually and just pull through until then.
> 
> I should probably also apologise for the medical inaccuracies, but seeing as I invented my own personal race of vampires (with the accompanying world and government) I thought that I could claim some creative licence - that also goes for my pseudo-science and pseudo-biology btw XD.
> 
> As another small side note, I'm also sorry about the lack of Musichetta, but I simply couldn't fit her in here. Sorry!
> 
> There are quite a few very obvious nods to other vampire fandoms in here, one more so than others I think, so have fun spotting those ^^!
> 
> Also, the second chapter isn't really a chapter at all, it's just a bonus scene that I wrote, but he tone is quite different and so I though it best to post it separately.
> 
> Okay, I'll let you get on with it now. Please just take it *thrusts fic at you*. This turned into an absolute monster determined to take over my every waking minute. I've never written so much so quickly in my entire life.  
> -Also, all mistakes are mine. Feel free to point out any I've missed (and there sure are), but I just couldn't stand to look at this for even another minute.
> 
> Title is taken, once again, from a song by Imagine Dragons - [Radioactive](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eu-xFvLaE68).

* * *

When one is young and passionate, not only ready to die for one’s cause but also expecting to, the world seems clear-cut and fate inevitable. For Enjolras, very young and still very much human, making a difference had equaled giving up everything else and that included his own life. His fervour had burned bright, his world reduced to red and black, fire and the imminent end. Back then he had spared no thought to the future - at least not to his own. He had assumed it would be better for the people living on after him, and that had to be enough. There had been no remorse when the dawn of his death painted the sky blood-red. Blood-red like his thoughts and like the flag held high by his white-knuckled hand.

When the shots had finally come, they had been expected; the pain, had not. For the tiniest moment, it had almost been as though he was suspended in mid-air, bullets deeply embedded in his flesh and having torn through him with all the vicious determination Enjolras had always shown for his beliefs. It had been irony in its purest form.

He had stumbled, perilously close to the open window behind him, and his arm, finally too weak to keep the flag aloft, had curled around his middle in an instinctive gesture to protect himself. He had curled in on himself, the momentum keeping him from tumbling over the window sill, and when he had fallen to his knees, all he had seen was red. He remembered thinking, ‘This is it’, expecting the red to fade in favour of black any moment. He had felt terrifyingly alone, but resigned and ready to embrace death, just as he had always thought it had to be.

The flag, his sole companion, had still been in his hands, clutched to his chest for comfort. He had expected the pain to drag him under, to make him sleep the endless sleep and bring him relief, but it had not. Instead, his body had been wrecked with shudders that made his wounds throb all the more and his world would not stop burning.

The pain had been so all-encompassing, that it had taken Enjolras a long time to realise that someone was touching him. His hair had been brushed back, his cheek gently tapped as though to rouse him from sleep, and fingers had curled around his shoulders to turn him onto his back. There had been a tug on the flag, an attempt to remove it from his stiff fingers, but Enjolras held on tight, as though relinquishing it meant letting go of the last friend he had.

There had been a voice, Enjolras thought, repeating his name. Enjolras had tried to open his eyes, but his vision had been unfocused and the light of the rising sun beyond the window had hurt and so he had closed them again. Whoever had been with him had stopped repeating his name, instead working on detaching one of Enjolras’ hands from the flag once more. Enjolras’ grip, weakened as it was by that point, loosened and he had been rewarded with a stinging sensation to his wrist. Something had nudged against his cracked lips and his mouth had been filled with sweetness; something thick and rich, sliding down his throat and pooling in his stomach.

Blackness had finally come, then. But it had not been forever.

***

When Enjolras had been young and passionate, not only ready to die for his cause but also expecting to, it had not occurred to him that Combeferre was not.

Vampires were not a foreign concept, even back then. They didn’t flaunt themselves, but neither did they actively hide. Enjolras had been aware of Combeferre’s nature, but in a time when humans and vampires alike had been suffering, there had been no reason to think them any different and Enjolras had never been prone to prejudice. Combeferre had become a dear friend, steadfast and calm, forever at Enjolras’ side and unrelenting in his support. At that point, they had been friends for years and shared lodgings with their other close friend, Courfeyrac.

Neither Courfeyrac nor Enjolras had ever raised the topic of how Combeferre never ate with them even while keeping them company at meals, nor that although he ventured out in the day, he preferred not to. He slept little or not at all, was strong and fast, but never threatening, and his kind eyes never steeled in the way that was whispered could compel humans to do a vampire’s bidding. He had been, as far as Enjolras could tell, the only vampire in their ranks.

He was also unable to let his two closest friends die.

The barricades had fallen, Courfeyrac with them and Enjolras had expected the same. But then he woke to his own bed, healed and well-rested, with Courfeyrac at his side, still fast asleep, and the phantom pain of bullets tearing him apart. He remembered the guards, the way their eyes had bored into him, and the barrels of their guns as they had raised them.

Enjolras’ clothes were glued to his body with dried blood and, he noticed, so were Courfeyrac’s. There were holes from the bullets, but no sign of injury. Enjolras’ right hand was _still_ holding onto the flag, the red fabric hiding well the fact that it was just as drenched in blood as them. He finally let it go, fingers cramped and stiff, just as Combeferre entered the room. He did not have to say it, the guilty look on his face was enough.

Enjolras had embraced him, then, and Courfeyrac, after he had woken. There was, unsurprisingly, a lingering resentfulness that things had turned out differently, because Enjolras was a lot of things and stubborn was, maybe, at the very top of that list. But he tried not to show it and never questioned Combeferre’s decision, knowing that had their places been reversed, he would have done the same.

He spent the first few months of his new life adjusting - to the sudden strength, the night-vision, his enhanced senses and, most of all, to the hunger. It was not like any hunger he had ever felt before, more akin to a soul-deep craving that sat in his bones every minute of every day. Combeferre told them that it would get better, but also that it wouldn’t fade until a mating bond had been formed. Enjolras resented the idea. The prospect that there was an individual out there that was to fulfil him in every way was something Enjolras found hard to accept - a fact that would not change for long years to come.

Bonding was tricky and it wasn’t required, though Combeferre ensured them that should they come across their mate, not wanting to would be a moot-point. There had, apparently, never been a vampire to refuse a bond. Humans, on the other hand, sometimes did refuse and the vampire then ended up dying alongside them as they grew old - out of choice, Combeferre claimed. Enjolras could not see it. After all, now that he had been given a second chance at life - such as it was - and a second chance to make a difference, why would he want to give that up?

But even humans, Combeferre reassured them, hardly ever refused a bond because the pull was said to be strong for both parties involved. Enjolras could not see this, either, being someone who had never been drawn to anyone in his life except his county and his cause. And now, of course, there was the special bond he shared with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, but they were his brothers now. The thought of craving this one person above all others both scared and annoyed Enjolras.

Another highly unpleasant aspect of his new life was feeding. Drinking blood was required and took the edge off the hunger, but if Enjolras had been a reluctant eater before, it was nothing compared to now. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were forever policing his eating habits, sometimes having to more or less forcefully take him along to feed. Enjolras hated everything about it. He didn’t like compelling humans, but then again neither did Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Usually they found someone who was known to offer services in that direction or, failing that, paid a common prostitute who cared little for the way in which money was earned. Enjolras was always careful not to touch any more than he had to, finding the experience highly disconcerting. He had never been one to welcome physical attention from strangers and that seemed to not have changed at all. He restricted himself to feeding only from the wrist and only ever took enough to sustain him. It always left him feeling dirty.

Combeferre was not as reserved, but neither was he like Courfeyrac, who often liked to combine the experience with sex and claimed that they were both insane for passing up the opportunity. While Enjolras was technically aware of the sexual aspect of feeding, he had never felt it himself. He knew Combeferre indulged, sometimes, but it was rare and so Enjolras did not feel quite as alienated from them as he could have. Being the only one disinterested in carnal pleasures was hardly news to him, but he still couldn’t help but think, sometimes when the hours grew long and the restlessness was almost unbearable, that there was something not quite right with him. Combeferre, because he could read them like a book, repeatedly ensured Enjolras that there was nothing wrong with him. He also insisted that things would be different once he’d found his mate. Enjolras didn’t know whether to find this conviction soothing or alarming and instead went on believing it impossible.

Another mystery was lifted in the form of Combeferre telling them that the reason he had been the only vampire in their acquaintance was that outside a coven, vampires didn’t mix well. They were territorial, possessive creatures and if the protectiveness Enjolras felt towards his brothers was anything to go by, he thought he understood that aspect of vampire society quite well. 

Covens were formed purely by instinct. The concept was loosely the same as finding a mate - which was to say, you either felt the pull or you didn’t. Sometimes strong bonds of friendship transferred to the new life and if that was combined with the experience of turning a human, then the bond tended to be quite intense - like it was between Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Enjolras himself. Especially those first few years after the change Enjolras always felt uneasy staying away for too long, a feeling which eased over time, but never faded.

Simply turning a human, however, did not create a bond by default and quite often after the adjusting period had ended, the new vampire and his maker went their separate ways. Turning a human could have the strangest of reasons, Enjolras learned, and apparently there were some that simply felt obliged to grant selected humans the wish to become vampire. No one could explain why, but it was suspected that it was simply a way for nature to maintain the balance and keep them from dying out, seeing as vampires could not reproduce the human way and did not really feel the need to after being turned. Their familial bonds with their coven replaced the wish to create a family of their own, like it was so common in humans. 

Terminal illness or fatal injury - as it had been the case with Enjolras and Courfeyrac - was another frequent reason for being turned. Combeferre, as they learned later, had suffered from consumption when he was still human and the woman he had been seeing, a vampire, had turned him to keep him from dying. They had parted ways when Combeferre had become self-sustaining, after it was clear that they shared no bond on any level.

Usually covens, or sometimes single vampires such as Combeferre had been before, picked a place unclaimed by other vampires and then did their best to stay out of the neighbouring vampire territories. It worked on a ‘first come, first served’ basis, which was a great way of avoiding conflict. 

Enjolras found the whole concept rather bizarre and it took a long time to get used to accepting his instincts purely for what they were. He had a hard time accepting the fact that there was no logic to vampire bonds - at least beyond the fact that whenever it ‘clicked’ the match held for infinite lifetimes. To Courfeyrac’s endless amusement, Enjolras spent long years making uncountable numbers of charts and writing long fact sheets, trying to find some sort of reasoning behind the instinct to bond. He had teased him mercilessly about it, while Combeferre had watched on kindly and left him to his devices until he finally gave up. He was not necessarily appeased, but when giving up on this particular endeavour he had at least finally accepted that vampires were simply different - a fact it had taken time to find peace in.

They used to be human and they were meant to co-habit with them, but they were not human anymore. Their heartbeats were slower and their breathing completely alien. Most vampires tended to simply keep up the reflex of human breathing, mostly to put the humans around them at ease, when in actuality a vampire only needed to take a breath at various irregular intervals throughout the day. They also often stopped moving altogether, a habit Enjolras had acquired and which, at the beginning, had tended to make him rather nervous. It happened mostly when he was either lost in thought or very focused on something in particular, making him unconsciously freeze in place like a marble statue, his slow heartbeat the only thing indicating that he was still alive. 

Vampires were a different species with their own biology and instincts and there was nothing anyone - not even Enjolras - could do about that. And, as Courfeyrac liked to point out, it didn’t mean that they loved each other any less simply because of a lack of logic. There was also no denying the unease prickling Enjolras’ spine whenever their paths crossed with other vampires, the way his temper flared even more quickly than usual and the fact that he found himself wishing to remove himself from their presence as quickly as possible.

His first experience with a familial bond - other than with Combeferre and Courfeyrac - happened a few decades later in the form of Feuilly and Bahorel. They were also the first bonded pair Enjolras was able to observe from up close.

It happened, unsurprisingly, completely by accident when Enjolras decided that they needed a change of location in order to look deeper into the unrests building in a different part of the country and Combeferre and Courfeyrac had humoured him - as they were wont to do. 

After choosing an unoccupied territory it had taken them all a few days to realised that they had, in fact, unwittingly invaded upon Feuilly and Bahorel’s part of the city as the usual unease had failed to set in. Upon meeting for negotiations, the reason for this became immediately evident and Feuilly and Bahorel slotted neatly into their group, the ease of which had Enjolras frowning for at least a month.

 Having a new addition to the coven, especially a bonded pair, was strange at first, though admittedly never unpleasant. Feuilly, the vampire of the pair, was intelligent and calm, though, unlike Combeferre, there was a sharp edge to him. He was good in a crisis and a quick thinker. 

Bahorel was mostly his opposite in every way. Where Feuilly was slender, Bahorel was burly, where Feuilly was calm and quiet, Bahorel was loud and boisterous. His voice was booming as were his laughs and he frequently bestowed slaps to their backs that often had them lurch forward with their force. Half of Feuilly’s strength was enough, it seemed, to make him almost as strong as a full-blooded vampire. 

Though bonding did not turn a human mate, their genetics changed enough to classify them as something else; more like a half-vampire. Their biology was still mostly human; they still acted human, ate human food and they still needed regular sleep, if not as many hours as a regular human. They didn’t simply freeze in place for extended periods of time and they liked sticking to their human habits, even though some had become unnecessary - like switching on a light at night. But their life-span matched that of their vampire mate and at least half of each of the vampire’s strengths was transferred to the human, including the improvement of their senses. 

The most glaring difference in their biology lay in the blood cell production, which adjusted to the vampire’s feeding habits, and the ability to heal quickly - useful in the face of frequent biting, but mostly a protection mechanism to not leave them too vulnerable in the face of their extended life-spans.

Through Feuilly and Bahorel, Enjolras learned how a mating bond worked. It also convinced him that he would never have anything like it.

*

Enjolras had thought that with immortality, the years would feel long, stretching endlessly before him. In reality, time passed much the same, but instead of years, it was now decades that rushed by. 

The world was ever changing and Enjolras, never swayed from his pursuit to make it a better place, did his best to adapt. He buried himself in politics, held speeches and led protest after protest. His brothers followed him - because even though Combeferre was the oldest, Enjolras was still their leader - and later so did Feuilly and Bahorel. The topics of the speeches changed, the plight of the world changing alongside them, but not as much as one would think. As hard as Enjolras fought to make a difference, humanity seemed determined not to learn from history.

Over the years, technology developed and the media became at the same time a powerful ally, as well as an enemy. Vampires were acknowledged more and curiosity grew. Humans started researching them, writing books and papers about them and trying to drag them into the light. There were such things as vampire-bars now - much good that it did them, for most still couldn’t stand to be in the same room with each other outside their covens - and they started appearing in encyclopaedias and added to school curriculums.

At the turn of the 20th century, the first successful attempt at manufacturing synthetic blood revolutionised vampire society and Enjolras thought he might actually weep with joy. NewBlood, as it was so cleverly called, came in different blood types and could be drunk cold or warm. It was utterly vile in Enjolras’ opinion, but he had never enjoyed eating - neither as a human nor a vampire - and so it hardly mattered.

Of course with every positive turn in human history, there came a negative one. As much as vampires were were now idolised and, in some strange cases, worshipped, they were also hated and feared. The government started putting in arguments and for every pro-vampire party there was an anti-vampire one. 

Humans were afraid, mostly because they were ignorant and unwilling to listen. They would not hear when vampires pointed out that the number of psychotic murderers was still proportionally higher in humans than vampires. They didn’t see that vampires were more comfortable with them than they were with their own kind. They didn’t understand that they needed humans to live and had no interest in harming them, that their mates were, in fact, human and equaled almost half of the vampire society. But vampire mates were stamped off as hybrids and no amount of scientific research seemed to convince them otherwise. To the outrage of the entire vampire population, vampire mates were instead claimed to be victims of vampire society, compelled to give up their human lives just like those who were unfortunate enough to be fully turned.

In the fifty years that followed NewBlood, high ranking members of society were outed as vampires and accused of having gained their position through means unattainable by humans. The government claimed that vampires had no scruples, that they had an advantage by being immortal and were therefore able to build their fortune over centuries without even having to put any honest work into it.

Enjolras, who by that point had attended university countless of times alongside his coven and had worked various jobs with the same single-minded determination as everything else, was furious. He started rallying vampires together, urging them to put aside the unpleasantness of being forced into each other’s company in favour of rising up against the government as one. 

That was also how they met Joly and Bossuet, another bonded pair that joined their coven. They were especially good with humans, like Courfeyrac, and still relatively young in comparison to some of the other vampires - including Enjolras and the other members of their coven. They appealed to the vampires by being pleasant and willing to ignore any discomfort and to humans by being more like them. Enjolras, though an excellent public speaker, was not the best in direct interaction with humans and vampires alike and Combeferre, Feuilly and especially Bahorel had trouble tolerating vampires that were not their own coven. Joly and Bossuet were, therefore, an excellent addition.

But for every success, vampire society also suffered at least two failures. On one side popularity for them increased, on the other the government panicked upon witnessing the hitherto unprecedented union of vampires from all across the country. They passed restrictive laws, starting with compulsory registration for every vampire and bonded pair, followed by a stricter control of finances and a drastic country-wide tax raise on every vampire with any sort of fortune or property. 

The nation was split.

*

By the early 2100s, vampires were actively suppressed by the government and an uprise of fanatic religious groups had managed to raise the tense atmosphere to an almost violent one. There were endless ebooks and webpages on how to defend oneself against vampires and how to keep them out of ones house. Some of them were, predictably, utter bullshit. Others, sadly, were not. 

There were anti-glamour contact lenses, vampire repelling perfumes and, to Enjolras’ endless outrage, pocket UV lights that resembled those small laser lights that had been so popular in the 1990s. Though daylight did not burn them into a crisp, direct UV exposure did harm them and it stood to reason that the government was planning something with that knowledge that was far bigger than pocket UV lights.

A month ago one of them had managed to singe Joly’s arm and the entire coven had been seething, most of all a usually so placid Bossuet, who was ready to find whoever idiot had done it and strangle him. That was also how they met Marius and Cosette, both human and firm supporters of the pro-vampire movement. They had helped Joly when he’d been attacked and Bossuet was somewhat pacified when he learned that Marius had socked the attacker in the jaw for his efforts. It turned out that Marius and Cosette had heard Enjolras speak before and that they both admired what he did. Enjolras, always happy to gain new followers, informed them of the time and place for the next meeting and encouraged them to bring as many more people as they liked.

Surprisingly, they did bring others. A fierce girl called Eponine and her younger brother Gavroche; a delicate young man with strawberry blond hair littered with flowers, a freckle count that rivalled Marius’ and clothes that hurt your eyes by the name of Jehan, and a man with dark, wiry hair and the bluest eyes Enjolras had ever seen, holding a bottle of lime-green alcohol and looking as though this was the very last place he wanted to be.

And that was how Enjolras met Grantaire.

*

Just like this, Enjolras’ world was upended.

The attraction was all but unbearable, the hunger constant and insistent in a way it had never been before, eating its way through his bones and making him feel nauseous. Enjolras downed bottle after bottle of NewBlood, but each one left him more unsatisfied than the last. He was restless, ever pacing where before he could stand in one spot for hours before remembering to move, his thoughts were scattered and he was constantly distracted. 

Most of all, however, he was furious. Furious with the situation at large, furious with himself for being unable to cope even though he was fighting _so hard_ and furious with Combeferre for being right.

Combeferre didn’t say ‘I told you so’, he wouldn’t. But it was still there in the way he watched Enjolras unravel at the seams.

It would have been maybe just a little bit easier to handle, if within the first month of their meeting Courfeyrac and Jehan weren’t already all over each other and Combeferre wasn’t successfully suffering in silence while tip-toeing around Eponine with exaggerated care. They didn’t seem angry in the least, both of them glued to their destined humans’ sides and lavishing them with affection - ready to do whatever they asked of them. It was sickening.

Enjolras, forever fuelled by fiery rage, avoided Grantaire like the plague. He refused to talk to him, to even acknowledge his presence, he had _things to do_. He couldn’t just let everything drop simply because of a crippling desire to pathetically curl up in Grantaire’s arms and stay there for the rest of their lives. He was leading a revolution, or at least _another_ revolution, but it was maybe the most important one up to now. He _didn’t have time for this._

But Grantaire, to Enjolras’ infinite vexation, wasn’t easily avoided. He kept appearing, was present at every meeting, every public speaking and fixed his infuriatingly blue eyes on Enjolras and refused to turn his gaze away even once. He drank (a lot) and listened (most of the time). And then he argued. Never in front of too big a crowd, never when it would put Enjolras too much on the spot, but during their meetings he cared little for the commotion he caused. He told Enjolras that his ideas were ridiculous, that the government would never listen to a minority and that their mutinous attitude would merely lead to stricter reforms. He called Enjolras an idealist, blinded by the dream of a better world, and achingly naive for someone so old.

In turn, Enjolras vented his rage by calling Grantaire a drunk and a cynic, by telling him that if everyone was like him then the world would have ended before it had even begun and that he should take his bottle along with his pessimism and get out. Sometimes Grantaire did, leaving Enjolras empty and aching and desperate to follow, and sometimes he didn’t, making the flush of rage on Enjolras’ face deepen and his heart jump wildly in his chest. Always, though, Grantaire came back. Why, Enjolras didn’t know.

*

It was after one of those meetings that Jehan bravely sought him out despite Enjolras’ obviously boiling temper. Grantaire had actually left when Enjolras had told him to go halfway through the meeting and the loss of his presence was like a gaping hole in Enjolras’ chest.

Grantaire had already arrived drunk and Enjolras, though more worried than annoyed, had done the usual thing and masked it with anger. Their argument had been brief but vicious - especially on Enjolras’ side. He could not remember all that had been said, but he did remember how it had ended, their parting words still ringing in Enjolras’ ears and having left a bitter taste in his mouth.

_“You’re incapeable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living and of dying!”_ Enjolras had shouted, over-worked and frustrated, his irritation spiking to new heights.

Grantaire had been still, then, his expression and voice grave as he’d answered. _“You’ll see.”_

In truth, Jehan was right to criticise him and had Enjolras not been strung so tight, he would have had less of a hard time accepting that.

“He doesn’t deserve being treated so harshly, Enjolras,” Jehan told him, eyes fierce and his delicate lips pursed in displeasure. 

He looked not at all afraid of further raising Enjolras’ ire and Enjolras couldn’t help but be impressed by that, used to men and vampires alike cowering under his gaze. It wasn’t something he welcomed, or even wanted, but people tended to listen when Enjolras had something to say and when he did not want to speak, people knew that, too.

Jehan, apparently, didn’t. Or, more likely, didn’t care.

Realising that the man wouldn’t be swayed, Enjolras paused in his task of viciously throwing his tablet and communicator into his bag, and turned the full force of his glare on Jehan, who had the decency to look alarmed, but bravely held his ground.

“He brings it upon himself,” Enjolras snapped, knowing that it was the truth, though not a justification, and wishing for the conversation to end as quickly as possible.

Jehan’s hands curled into fists at his side and Enjolras marvelled at the fact that he looked intimidating despite the flowers in his hair and the fact that he was wearing an over-sized jumper with a blinding floral pattern.

“I know you disagree,” he said, his usual quiet voice rising slightly and suddenly sounding vaguely deeper than usual. “But Grantaire has a right to speak his mind!”

“He does,” Enjolras said sharply, his jaw tight with tension. “But not in the form of drunken slurring simply for the sake of interrupting me. He has no respect for the meetings, no respect for _me_ and I don’t have the time, nor the will, to deal with him!”

These words were followed by a deafening silence, the room suddenly quiet enough for the sounds of traffic to penetrate the meeting hall. The loud, hectic atmosphere were a sharp contrast to the sudden stillness of the room. 

Jehan looked stricken, his eyes overly bright and a look of deep disappointment painting an uncharacteristically harsh line across his forehead. Enjolras felt terrible about hurting him, though the feeling was dwarfed by his general misery and not quite enough to push him into an apology just yet.

“You’re very wrong, Enjolras,” Jehan said quietly. “And I hope that when you realise that, it won’t already be too late.”

He closes the door softy on his way out.

*

Courfeyrac sought him out mere hours later.

Enjolras had barely made it home, the metro left suspended over its magnetic rail for at least half an hour because two hover-cars had managed to slide off the road and collided close to the train. It had been close and hot, despite the environmental controls inside the carriage, with people huffing left and right and complaining about the wait.

When Enjolras had got off at his station in Old Paris, he was annoyed enough to set off at inhuman speed, something he usually avoided when surrounded by humans because he knew it alarmed them. He dropped his keys into the bowl with the other seven sets already there and made his way up to his room. There was still a blog-post in his drafts that he hadn’t had the time to post yet and he needed to talk to Combeferre about the permit for the upcoming protest.

Courfeyrac was already waiting for him, perched on Enjolras’ desk-chair, his eyes hard and his mouth for once unsmiling.

“What did you say to Jehan?” he demanded, folding his arms across his chest to further communicate his displeasure.

Enjolras, never happy in the face of an angry Courfeyrac, pressed his lips into a tight line. He deposited his bag by his holo-desk he touched the side to switch it on and watched the desk-top flare to life, displaying everything he had worked on before leaving early this morning.

“What do you mean?” he asked absently, eyes already flickering over his last opened windows.

Courfeyrac made an angry sound in the back of his throat, and swiped a hand across the screen, chasing the different sized windows out of sight and rising from his chair to plant himself directly in front of Enjolras.

“You upset him. And I want to know what you told him to get him like this.”

Enjolras glared at him. “I merely pointed out that I have no time for Grantaire’s disrespectful behaviour.”

Courfeyrac threw his hands up in exasperation. “You are being utterly ridiculous! How long is this supposed to go on like this?”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes at him in warning. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You never do, when it doesn’t suit you!” Courfeyrac snapped and Enjolras’ answering glare was murderous. “Fine, do what you like. It’s not my business if you want to make yourself miserable, but just so we’re clear. The next time you feel like voicing some of the lies you tell yourself to justify how stupid you’re being, don’t do it in Jehan’s presence. He doesn’t need this shit from you.”

And that seemed to be all Courfeyrac had to say to him, for a moment later the door of his room slammed shut with enough force to put a crack in it, very much unlike Jehan’s quiet exit earlier. Enjolras was torn between fury and shock, unable to remember when Courfeyrac had last looked this angry and not knowing what to do about it.

Looking back down at his desk, Enjolras swiped his hand across the surface, retreiving the windows from before, and sat down to work.

*

That night Enjolras was exhausted, the kind of bone-deep weariness that alerted him to the fact that he was long overdue for some much needed sleep. Sleep that, apparently, refused to come despite the heaviness of his limbs. It was always harder falling asleep at night when his body demanded it was most awake, but they had to keep a human schedule and there was no other time to rest.

His stomach was churning unpleasantly and Enjolras cast a defeated glance towards the five already empty bottles of NewBlood on his bedside table. Resigning himself to his fate, Enjolras fought his body to co-operate and heaved himself off the bed. _Just one more_ , he thought, _one more and I’ll feel at least sated enough to sleep_.

Trudging downstairs on silent feet, Enjolras easily navigated their house in the dark. There were three floors, including a basement. Joly and Bossuet occupied the third, Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac the second and Feuilly and Bahorel the basement. The first one held a common room with the latest high tech PTV and entertainment system that Courfeyrac and Bahorel had insisted on, and two guest rooms - one of which was currently occupied by Marius, who had moved out of his grandfather’s mansion in protest of the old man’s conservative views on vampire society. The ground floor had a second living room, a meeting room that functioned as a communal study and a spacious kitchen. It was there that Enjolras was headed now, having run out of NewBlood in his own room.

Dim light painted an orange glow against the walls and floor of the hallway leading to the kitchen, a clear indication that it must be occupied by at least one full-blooded human - or maybe Bahorel, who liked switching on a light despite his excellent night vision. It didn’t take long for Enjolras to discover that it wasn’t, in fact, Bahorel, but Courfeyrac and Jehan. They didn’t notice him approaching through the second entrance to the kitchen, too wrapped up in each other. Courfeyrac had crowded Jehan against one of the counters and they were kissing, Jehan’s graceful arms were wound around Courfeyrac’s neck and Courfeyrac’s fingers were tangled in Jehan’s for once dishevelled, unbraided hair. The flowers from before were gone, but the oversized jumper was still there, hanging off one shoulder from where Courfeyrac had undoubtedly tugged at it. Something in Enjolras clenched tight and he thought of turning back, but then felt his stubborness rise and took the challenge as he took any other, with a raised chin and fierce determination. It wasn’t necessary to disturb them and so he planned on merely sneaking past them to the fridge, getting a few bottles of blood and heading back to his room.

Jehan’s next words, however, froze him in place.

“Are you hungry?” It was no more of a murmur, but in the silence of the house, it was almost a shout, especially to Enjolras’ inhuman hearing.

Courfeyrac drew back slightly, brushing Jehan’s hair behind his ears in a gesture that was pure affection, before nudging his nose with his own and making Jehan smile soppily.

“I’m always hungry for you,” Courfeyrac murmured, placing a kiss on the tip of Jean’s nose and making Enjolras roll his eyes in annoyance.

Jehan pushed in closer, using his grip on Courfeyrac’s neck to draw him in again for a lingering kiss.

“You can, you know,” Jehan said against Courfeyrac’s lips, the words almost inaudible.

Courfeyrac made a sound in the back of his throat, raw and needy, and pressed closer before drawing back once more, this time putting more distance between them than before. He looked suddenly serious.

“I really can’t,” he said, gentle but firm. “I’ve already taken more than I should have this week. I don’t want to make you sick. Until we’re bonded, once every other week will have to be enough. NewBlood’ll have to do until then.”

Jehan didn’t look happy. “But you can give me more of your blood to make up for it.”

Courfeyrac gave a rueful smile and leaned in to brush a kiss against one of Jehan’s freckled cheeks. “Even so. I’m scared it’ll be bad for you in the long run.”

Jehan tilted his head up, bridging most of their difference in height and burying one of his long-fingered hands in Courfeyrac’s dark locks, tugging him down and towards his neck. “Please.”

Courfeyrac groaned, latching onto Jehan’s neck with his lips. “ _Jesus, Jehan_.”

Enjolras knew that he should leave, knew that he was intruding on something terribly intimate, but his feet were anchored to the floor and he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“Please,” Jehan repeated softly, his body arching against Courfeyrac and moulding itself to him. “Just a little, just-” he swallowed, clearly breathless now. “I want you to, please Courfeyrac.”

“God, what you do to me,” Courfeyrac muttered and Enjolras could see the brief glint as his fangs extended, before they sank into Jehan’s neck, careful and gentle, but deeply.

Jehan moaned, straining against Courfeyrac and winding his fingers even tighter into his hair to hold him in place as he pressed closer against his mouth. Courfeyrac pushed him back against the counter without dislodging his teeth, driving another goran from them both.

Enjolras, finally able to move again, turned on his heel and raced back up the stairs with inhuman speed. He fell against his closed door, burying his burning face in his palms and tugging forcefully at his hair in the hope of driving the image of them out of his mind. Another one threatened to arise, one where it wasn’t Courfeyrac and Jehan, but himself and Grantaire, and Enjolras yanked all the harder for it, fighting it with vicious determination.

He wasn’t jealous. He _wasn’t_. He couldn’t let himself want Grantaire, it wasn’t possible. Grantaire resented him and all they ever did was fight, _it would never work_. It didn’t make him crave it any less.

*

The next day, Combeferre and Eponine appeared together, holding hands. 

This time, the bitter taste of jealousy couldn’t be denied and as much as Enjolras tired to swallowed it down, it still coated the inside of his mouth and turned his stomach. He felt terrible, angry that he wasn’t even able to be happy for his brothers and so tired of it all. He wished, for the first time ever, simply to disappear.

He didn’t look at Grantaire and sped away at the end of the meeting without another word to anyone.

*

Enjolras moved the virtual keyboard on his holo-desk a few inches to the right, closer to where his tablet was resting in one corner, and pinched the air above the depiction of the main square in New Paris, drawing it from the surface and into a proper, three dimensional hologram.

His communicator chirped from his other side, but he ignored it along with the projection of ever-scrolling news-feeds above it. He needed to plan a route for the big protest, as they were calling it. He leaned forward, a stray lock spilling out of his tight pony-tail, his hair barely long enough to be tied back, but done in an attempt to keep it out of his face. Enjolras brushed it away with a frown, trying to tuck it behind his ear only to have it spring right back.

A faint knock sounded on his door frame.

“Enjolras?”

Enjolras looked up, finding Combeferre regarding him from behind his thick-framed glasses,with that particular look that spelled out ‘concern’, the small line between his brows practically screaming at Enjolras that he knew something was up. The glasses weren’t necessary of course, but Combeferre used to wear them when they had first met in an effort to blend in more and the habit had stuck, the frame changing over time.

“Yes, Combeferre?” He hoped playing dumb was enough to deliver his refusal to talk about it.

The corners of Combeferre’s mouth turned down the slightest fraction in disapproval of Enjolras’ tactic and he took a step closer into the room, briefly glancing at what Enjolras was working on.

“Won’t you come down to join us? You’ve been locked up here all night.” He asked it in a way as though they both didn’t already know the answer.

Enjolras lowered his eyes back to the holographic model, and turned it this way and that. “No, thank you. I have work to do.”

Combeferre’s eyes bored into him. “Is this about you and Courfeyrac fighting?”

Enjolras didn’t take the bait. “I’m not fighting with him.”

Combeferre, never one to press beyond the line of comfort, yielded with a sigh. “Alright. Please don’t forget to feed.”

*

For all of Combeferre’s pliancy, he was not above fighting dirty.

An hour later, Feuilly entered Enjolras’ room under the pretence of bringing Enjolras a bottle of NewBlood, which really, was no pretence at all. Unlike Combeferre, he didn’t remain standing and instead chose to fold his long limbs into the armchair by the window after having deposited the bottle at Enjolras elbow, right over the draft for one of the banners for the protest.

Outside, it was raining, huge droplets of water lashed onto the windows by the wind and Notre Dame cathedral loomed at a distance in the gloomy air. Of all the changed in Paris, the old centre had remained much the same as an act to preserve some history and Notre Dame was one of the constants in Enjolras’ long life - probably all of their lives. IT was part of the reason why they had all so easily agreed on this house.

Feuilly didn’t seem in a hurry to speak, instead spent some time looking at the rain outside and then grabbed Enjolras’ ebook reader from where he had left it on the sill a few nights ago. He idly thumbed through some pages and Enjolras left him to it, busy writing several emails and updating their blog.

When the silence was broken, it was without the pretence of wrapping up the inquiry in something inconsequential.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Courfeyrac?” Feuilly asked, eyes still fixed on the page before him and apparently genuinely invested in whatever he was reading. “Are you planning to stop fighting with him anytime soon?”

Enjolras raised his head. “We are _not_ fighting,” he said, unable to keep the sharpness from creeping into his voice.

Feuilly pointedly raised an eyebrow. “No, you just don’t talk to each other and start glaring at each other when you’re in the same room. Wherever did we get the idea from that you’re fighting.”

Enjolras pressed his lips together in annoyance, trying his best to stay neutral in the face of Feuilly’s needling words. 

“It’s of no consequence,” he said. “We’ve fought before.”

Feuilly levelled him with a look. “Apologise to Jehan. And stop being so endlessly stubborn about this.” There was no need to elaborate as to what ‘this’ was. “It’s only hurting you.”

With that, Feuilly’s attention was once more arrested by Enjolras’ ebook and Enjolras turned back to his work, discussion clearly over. Enjolras didn’t mind the company, often even enjoyed the silent presence of one of his brothers while he worked.

Feuilly stayed for another few hours until Bahorel came barging into the room, demanding his attention, and dragging him off for one thing or another. Upon leaving, Feuilly threw Enjolras a firm look as if to stress his earlier words.

Enjolras sighed and rubbed at his temples.

*

Enjolras did apologise to Jehan, who gave him a sad smile and told him it was alright. It made Enjolras feel even worse about the whole thing, but he didn’t know what else to do and so he left it at that.

He still didn’t talk to Courfeyrac, his words still ringing far too loud and true in his mind and his unreasonable anger still boiling far too close to the surface. He didn’t want Courfeyrac’s honesty, it cut far too deeply through Enjolras’ ever struggling walls and he didn’t want to hurt him by lashing out because of it.

The tension in the house was almost unbearable and the approach of the big protest did nothing in easing it, sending Enjolras into his usual frenzy and putting everyone else on edge alongside him.

Combeferre had started fixing Enjolras with frowning looks of concern, which Enjolras steadfastly ignored, and Feuilly practically radiated disapproval. Bahorel, caught in the crossfire of his mate’s displeasure and at the same time not wanting to pick a fight with Enjolras, filled tense silences with crude jokes and slapped Enjolras’ back more than usual. Joly was flitting around him with endless bouts of nervous energy, shoving a never-ending supply of NewBlood at him and frequently pointing out that he looked sick and needed to rest. Bossuet shot him sympathetic looks, but was mostly busy keeping Joly from combusting in a bout of his own energy.

Eponine openly glared at him at every meeting and Marius had started avoiding being home for extended stretches of time, instead spending time at Eponine or Cosette’s place. Jehan did not approach him again, but his eyes were still sad and he seemed suspended in a general bout of melancholia, which in turn set Courfeyrac even more on edge and had him refuse to even look at Enjolras. It was so unlike him that, for the first time since he could remember, Enjolras had a hard time holding onto his grudge. Courfeyrac was not a vindictive person - that trait was reserved for Enjolras - and his lingering anger made Enjolras feel all the worse.

Throughout it all, Grantaire seemed to have not stopped drinking, his gait mostly unsteady and his appearance even more unkempt than usual. Paint stains covered every inch of his clothes and Enjolras wondered when he found the time for it - though the deep shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes were probably answer enough. Despite all that, his gaze was just as blue as ever and still followed Enjolras’ every move.

Enjolras buried himself in preparations for the big protest, giving up sleep entirely and was constantly in motion. Grantaire, though present, displayed an intense lack of interest and never moved from his corner - sometimes sketching on his tablet or, as Enjolras had come to learn he preferred, the old fashioned way on a sketchpad and always, always drinking. 

Enjolras had no idea what he was doing at their meetings, but was grateful for the respite. 

So when the argument came, it caught him so completely by surprise that he felt for a moment as though the world must have stopped turning altogether.

“Don’t hold the protest on the same day as the Children of the Sun,” Grantaire said suddenly, for once not in his usual place but at the front with the rest of them. “It’s a bad idea, and you know it.”

Enjolras’ head snapped up and it took him an embarrassingly long moment to gather his wits about him, which he finally did by fixing Grantaire with a glare over the hologram of their planned protest route. 

“Our protest was scheduled fist,” Enjolras said. “We can’t seem as though we’re backing down, otherwise they’ll do this every time and think they can subdue us with it.”

Grantaire’s bottle hit the table top, right in the centre of the hologram, blue strings of light clinging to his skin. He was rarely seriously angry, his comments usually cleverly placed to enrage Enjolras and make _him_ shout, not the other way around. Grantaire was often passive when yelled at by Enjolras, simply watching him and fuelling Enjolras’ anger with his silence. Today, though, he looked _furious_ and the sudden display of passion - even if it was of this kind - had Enjolras flushed and aching with desire in mere minutes, his nerves strung all the tighter for it.

“They are dangerous, do you understand, Enjolras?” Grantaire so rarely used his name that for a moment Enjolras had trouble hearing anything that came after it, a shiver racing down his spine at the way Grantaire’s lips wrapped around the syllables. “They’ll have weapons, _they’re violent_! For all you know, you’re risking your lives going out there and let me tell you it’s not worth it!”

Enjolras straightened, hands clenched into painful fists at his side. “It’s never worth it for you!” he snapped.

“For fuck’s sake!” Grantaire’s voice was louder than Enjolras had ever heard it, obviously hoping that the increase in volume would help get through to Enjolras. “Will you _listen to me_! Just this once, Enjolras, will you _stop being such a stubborn bastard_ and _listen_! _They are out for your blood!_ Riot police won’t be able to do jackshit against them and _you will get hurt_!”

“Then stay here!” Enjolras said, harshly and already on the verge of shouting. “No one’s asking you to be there, Grantaire!”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Grantaire was actually yelling now. “I’m talking about _you_! _I don’t want you to get hurt!_ ” The silence following that was deafening and Enjolras had trouble keeping upright, suddenly dizzy. Grantaire averted his eyes, quickly casting his gaze about the room and the others standing around the table. “Any of you,” he added weakly, though the words did little in taking the weight of the previous statement.

Enjolras could feel everyone’s eyes on him and inhaled sharply, his lungs aching with it. Straightened his spine, he rose to his full height. He wouldn’t show weakness. He couldn’t afford it.

“We’re marching tomorrow morning. You are all aware of the risks and if any of you - especially humans - should choose to stay behind, I will think no less of you,” Enjolras said with his leader-voice, casting a look at his followers without straying too close to where Grantaire was still standing across him. “Wear protective gear, if you like, but don’t bring any weapons. We are still leaders of a peaceful protest. If the others choose to become violent, it will be them who are seen as brutes, not us. Meeting dismissed.”

People started shuffling from the room, the murmur of conversation picking up as they moved, some zipping off at vampire speed, some leaving at a more measured pace.

Grantaire was looking at him, taking a hesitate step in his direction. “Enjolras.”

Enjolras forced himself to keep his eyes on the task of switching off the hologram and putting his tablet back into his bag. “Not now, Grantaire.”

Shouldering his bag, Enjolras walked past his brothers and felt their gazes following him, but most of all, he felt Grantaire’s eyes boring into his back.

*

The day of the protest the sky was overcast, thick storm clouds gathering in the distance and the smell of rain already hanging heavily in the air. Their numbers, Enjolras noted proudly, were vast − but so where those of the Children of the Sun. They started out at different points of the city, but all gathered on the main square of New Paris, in front of the capitol building. As predicted, the Children of the Sun followers had about every available anti-vampire trinket, some of them, to Bahorel’s eternal amusement, sporting chains of garlic around their necks.

Less amusing were the silver pitchforks they used to hold up banners such as ‘Our ancestors knew better’ or ‘This isn’t Evolution, it’s DEvolution’. Not to mention that they had turned up not only with pocket UV lights, but entire UV beams. Feuilly had managed to disable one of them, but the second one was still very much functional and prompted more than one vampire to open the umbrellas they had brought in case of rain to instead shield them from the UV rays. Joly and Combeferre were busy nursing humans that had gotten punched and handing out NewBlood to speed along healing for the vampires who had been zapped by the UV lights or sliced by silver - mostly rosaries sporting spiked silver crosses.

The crowd on both sides was restless and angry and there was an abundance of yelled insults. Nevertheless, a few hours into the occupation of the main square, it looked as though it might not be as bad as they had feared. They were wrong.

In the early afternoon, just as thunder had started rolling in the distance, the Children of the Sun were seen to group together and the tension on the square rose considerably. There was more yelling and some obvious baiting from the opposing group, setting Enjolras’ teeth on edge and having him signal to his coven and friends that he expected trouble and soon. 

When the first gas-bomb landed, it was enough to turn the protest into a riot.

Some of the bombs were filled with something strongly smelling of garlic, which hardly harmed the vampires but made the humans’ eyes run and their lungs constrict. Others were filled with chemical vampire-repellents, which made all of them cough and their vision swim. The riot police, of which there was _a lot_ and which had mostly held their positions around the square until now, were raising their shields and calling for back-up. Enjolras called for a retreat, but it was hard even seeing which way was which anymore, thick clouds of smoke hanging in the air and turning the main square into something from a post-apocalyptic horror movie.

Joly, Bossuet and Combeferre were busy herding human vampire-supporters together and pairing them with vampire-escorts to safely take them away from the riot. Feuilly and Bahorel, in charge of a large group of vampires, were somewhere at the front lines, trying to drive back Children of the Sun followers and giving people the chance to escape. 

He spotted Courfeyrac several feet away tugging a screaming Jehan off a man twice his size, who had apparently sliced open Courfeyrac’s arm with a sliver cross. Jehan’s fists were bloody, as was his nose, but his eyes were fierce and unforgiving and he looked ready to murder the man, whose nose looked to be broken and his arms featuring deep scratches. Enjolras derived a sort of dark pleasure from it and his admiration for Jehan rose another notch.

Somewhere to their right, a coughing Marius emerged, holding onto Cosette and Eponine, their eyes red and leaking from the smoke. It was in that moment that Courfeyrac looked up, seeking his gaze. Enjolras gave him a grim nod and made a motion with his head to indicate that they should get out of there. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow and mentioned over to where the rest of their coven was still involved in the fight. Enjolras waved him off, pointing at his arm and giving him a firm look, which made Courfeyrac sigh visibly, before finally returning the nod and turning to the others to get them into a formation that would best keep them protected. They were soon swallowed by the crowd, but Enjolras had every faith in Courfeyrac to bring them all home safely.

The riot police was still in full action, arresting whoever got in their way and confiscating weapons left and right, but the smoke remained thick and the front lines were full of fighting vampires and Children of the Sun followers. Enjolras dodged a pitchfork, helped a younger vampire back to his feet and concentrated on trying to feel the direction of where Combeferre, Joly and Bossuet were. He wanted his coven out of here, feeling the danger in the air, underlined by the static air of the storm coming ever closer. The first bolt of lightning split the sky.

In the end, Combeferre found him first spouting a small gash on his forehead that was just starting to heal and a torn jacket and shirt, the fabric around his shoulder bloody and the skin raw from sliver burn.

“Joly and Bossuet just helped get a few injured out.”

Enjolras nodded. “Everyone else except for Feuilly and Bahorel have made it out as well. You go too, you need to have that shoulder looked at. I’ll get them.”

There was a deafening roll of thunder, closely followed by a cracking sound and another wave of smoke enveloped them. It was of the vampire-repellent variant and Enjolras doubled over coughing, blindly grabbing for Combeferre’s arm to drag him away. They stumbled past a mob of screaming Children of the Sun followers and Enjolras gently pushed Combeferre into a random direction away from the capitol building.

“Get out of here,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Combeferre squeezed his arm. “Take care.”

Enjolras didn’t take the time to watch him go, instead retreated his steps and made his way towards the front lines. His head was throbbing with all the shouting, his sensitive ears ringing and his nose burning despite the fact that he had stopped breathing to prevent the smoke from getting into his lungs. He was halfway there, when a sharp pain sliced through his thigh, the pain exploding sudden and intense, making his knee give before he could catch himself.

Barely avoiding getting trampled on by a policeman, Enjolras touched his thigh and winced at the firey pain racing through it. His fingers came away red and he cursed, twisting his leg to get a better look. The skin was hot and raw, bleeding sluggishly and Enjolras cursed at the sight of the obvious silver-burn. Someone must have shot him with a silver-bullet and if he hadn’t been convinced that they needed to remove themselves as soon as possible, he certainly was now.

He tried putting weight on his leg, but the wound was fresh and rather deep and it was hard finding his bearings between the rioting mob. Frustrated, Enjolras thought of calling for Feuilly and Bahorel, when someone landed on the ground next to him. All too familiar hands appearing in his field of vision and curled around his leg. The shudder it sent through Enjolras’ body was enough to disparage any doubt as to who it was. Enjolras’ heart sank, fear slicing through him in a way no silver bullet could ever hope to manage. His head snapped up just in time to meet Grantaire’s wide-eyed gaze.

“ _Enjolras_ ,” he said, sounding frantic and utterly breathless as though he had run the entire way. “Are you alright?”

Grantaire’s eyes were as blue as ever, but they were also more bloodshot than usual and the shadows beneath his eyes were especially deep that day. The smell of stale alcohol clung to him and he was wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even so, Enjolras wanted nothing but to lean into him. He dug his fingers into his jean-clad thigh to keep himself from reaching out.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, incredulous. “What are you _doing_ here?”

Grantaire leaned in closer to inspect the wound for himself, using it as an excuse to avoid Enjolras’ gaze. “I wanted to be here sooner, but” he swallowed, the unspoken end of the sentence hanging between them like a shout. _But I passed out._ Grantaire’s eyes were suddenly back on his, pleading and desperate. “I wanted to be here, Enjolras. I wanted to stand with you, but I thought you wouldn’t want me to. But then I saw you on state television and-”

“They’re showing this on the state network?” Enjolras interrupted, momentarily distracted by the importance of that statement.

Grantaire’s mouth turned down and his gaze slid away once more, back to where Enjolras was still bleeding, his fingers gentle as they probed the wound. “Of course this is what you’d take away from what I just said,” he muttered, bitterly. As so often with Grantaire, Enjolras regretted having spoken and cursed his inability to say the right thing when it came to this man. “Yes, you’re on TV. Live. But this is really not the time to get excited about that, alright? We need to get out of here. They’re targeting you, because you’re the leader. And you’re not exactly inconspicuous.” Grantaire gave Enjolras’ red jacket a pointed look.

Enjolras glared, but conceded to the point. “Feuilly and Bahorel are still out there.”

Grantaire withdrew his hands. “I know. But they know that you called for a retreat, I’m sure they’ll follow as soon as they can. We can’t stay, it’s too dangerous. I told you they’d be out for your blood. Can you stand?”

Enjolras sighed and nodded. He let Grantaire wrap an arm around his waist, the touch like a hot iron-brand even through two layers of clothes, and allowed him to help him to his feet. His thigh throbbed and Enjolras tried to take his weight off the leg as much as possible. Making certain that Enjolras was sure on his feet, Grantaire then produced a bottle of NewBlood from apparently thin air and pushed it, already open, into Enjolras’ hands. For once obedient, Enjolras downed it in one go and was thankful when he could feel the burn receding slightly. Grantaire reached for him again, curling one of his warm hands around Enjolras’ forearm, seeking to steady him.

“Okay, I think we should try and go-” he broke off abruptly, suddenly frozen in place at Enjolras’ side, his grip tightening into a vice.

Alarmed, Enjolras’ gaze snapped up and found a leering woman in their path. She was wearing a t-shirt declaring that ‘God hates Fangs’ and, clutched in her white-knuckled grip, was a shotgun. Enjolras’ stomach tightened with fear.

“Finally,” she crowed, looking faintly unhinged. “The fearless leader himself!”

At his side, Grantaire was shaking.

The woman’s leer, if possible, widened and the shotgun shifted position, the barrel suddenly pointing straight at Enjolras’ chest. Grantaire let out a faint sound of alarm, his grip on Enjolras tightening convulsively. Enjolras, led completely by instinct and far too undone to ignore it as he always did, grasped Grantaire’s shaking hand in his and held on tight. The barrel didn’t waver. It was only one, this time, but even so the experience hadn’t gotten anymore pleasant. Only that this time, this time he wasn’t alone. This time, Grantaire was there, holding his hand and pressed warmly all the way against his side.

“Daddy will be so proud,” the woman babbled, her finger tensing on the trigger.

Then, several things happened at once.

Bahorel appeared with a roar of outrage and Grantaire’s warmth was suddenly gone from beside him, his hand empty. A shot was fired and Grantaire, suddenly in front of Enjolras, fell backwards into him. A voice cried out and Enjolras thought it might have been his own.

He caught Grantaire, his arms instinctively sheltering his mate, and went to his knees, cradling him close. Grantaire was wheezing, whimpers of pain lodged in his throat as he curled into Enjolras’ chest, his now tear-stained face pressing into Enjolras’ t-shirt. Enjolras, one arm staying Grantaire, used his other hand to frantically seek the injury, the smell of his blood already searing his nose. 

Somewhere above them, Bahorel was still shouting, but Enjolras hardly heard it. His fingers finally found the hole the bullet had torn into Grantaire’s stomach and Enjolras sucked in a sharp breath, very close to a sob. Now it was his hands that were shaking.

“Grantaire,” he demanded, voice trembling slightly around the edges. “Stay with me, you hear. You have to stay awake.”

Grantaire blinked up at him through hazy eyes, one of his blood-stained hands reaching upwards to touch Enjolras’ cheek. His blood was the sweetest thing Enjolras had ever smelt, instantly intoxicating, but that’s not how he wanted it. Never like this. Enjolras caught the hand with his own red-coated fingers.

“Enjolras? Is he-” Feuilly, having crouched down beside them, sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the wound. “I don’t think he’ll make it until we’re home. We need to-”

Bahorel let out another cry, but this time in pain and Feuilly shot to his feet in alarm. He looked torn.

Enjolras held Grantaire tighter, curling around him and pressing his hand to the wound in the hope of slowing the bleeding. Grantaire groaned in pain, the sound like a knife to Enjolras’ chest. They needed to move somewhere safe, somewhere where Enjolras could _help him_. Enjolras tied to focus, keeping the panic at bay as forcefully as he could.

“Go,” he told Feuilly. “I’ll take him to the park. Come find us and get Combeferre and Joly.”

Feuilly gave a jerky nod, before racing off to help his mate.

Enjolras shifted his grip on Grantaire and, as carefully as he could, lifted him into his arms. Grantaire whimpered and Enjolras shushed him, cradling him safely against his chest.

The park, thankfully, wasn’t far and as soon as Enjolras found a secluded sport behind some bushes, he gently put Grantaire down on the grass. His eyes were closed, but when Enjolras, frantic and scared beyond anything he’d ever felt before, cupped his face between trembling fingers, they fluttered open to look up at him through half-lidded eyes. 

“Grantaire, you have to stay with me,” Enjolras said intently. “Just _stay awake_. Don’t leave me, please.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said, voice faint and eyelids drooping. “Sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Shhh, don’t talk,” Enjolras said softly, fighting down panic. “Just concentrate on staying awake.”

A weak, trembling hand curled into Enjolras’ t-shirt and Grantaire nodded weakly, eyes hazy and clouded with pain. Above them, the wind rushed through the trees and another bold of lightning lit up the sky.

“Okay,” Enjolras said under his breath, taking a few gulps of air and fumbling with the hem of Grantaire’s hoodie. “This will hurt, but I need to get the bullet out first.” He rucked both hoodie and the t-shirt underneath up and over the wound. There was blood everywhere and Enjolras had to stop breathing again.

Before bending over the wound, Enjolras caught Grantaire’s hand with his own and pressed his lips to his palm. “It’s going to be alright,” he said against it, not sure whether he was reassuring Grantaire or himself.

The second Grantaire’s blood touched Enjolras’ tongue, his fangs shot out and Enjolras had to jerk back for a moment so as not to pierce the skin around the wound. Angling his head differently, he managed to close his lips around the wound without sinking his fags into Grantaire’s flesh, and sucked hard. The heady sweetness of Grantaire’s blood filled his mouth, burning a pleasant path all the way down his throat and making him immediately dizzy. It was like a drug, like a shock that reverberated into his bones. It was almost a good thing the the silver bullet chose that moment to shoot into his mouth, burning his lips and tongue and making Enjolras abruptly tear away. He spat out the bullet, retching at the foul bitterness it left in his mouth in sharp contrast to Grantaire’s blood. Spitting and spitting some more, Enjolras did his best to ignore the painful silver-burn across his lips and tongue and sank his still extended fangs into his own wrist, tearing into it almost viciously in his haste.

He cradled Grantaire close once more, holding him in his lap and against his chest and pressing his wrist against his lips. Grantaire, barely conscious at this point, hardly opened his mouth enough to receive the blood and Enjolras had to gently urge him on with another press of his wrist. When his lips finally closed around the bleeding puncture holes Enjolras had left on his own wrist, Enjolras could have sobbed in relief.

He slumped forward, burying his nose in Grantaire’s wiry hair as his mate sucked deep gulps of blood from his wrist. Enjolras’ saliva had already helped stop the bleeding, and his blood now rushing into Grantaire’s body was starting to encourage his body to knot tissue and skin back together. Enjolras was starting to feel dizzy, felt the blood leaving him with alarming speed, but didn’t dare take his wrist back yet. He’d give all the blood he had if it meant Grantaire would be alright and it was with that thought, that he closed his eyes against the way the world was suddenly losing focus in front of his eyes just as the first drops of rain fell from the sky.

*

When Enjolras woke it was to his own room and Grantaire’s deep, even breathing. In a reversal of their position before, it was Grantaire who was curled around him this time, Enjolras’ face pressed to his chest, close to the tempting softness of his neck. Enjolras shifted, finding one of his legs trapped between Grantaire’s thighs and found that Grantaire had buried one of his hands in Enjolras’ hopelessly messed curls, his nose breathing warm breath against the top of his head.

Over Grantaire’s shoulder, Enjolras could see that his bedside table was overflowing with NewBlood bottles and he thought he remembered voices telling him to _swallow, please, you need to feed_.

Enjolras’ fingers found the hem of Grantaire’s top - a different t-shirt, fresh and free of blood - and moved it upwards, shifting again to get a better look at Grantaire’s stomach. The wound was gone, thank god, the only thing remaining a faint scar an inch above Grantaire’s belly button. Enjolras reached out to trace it without thinking.

Grantaire inhaled sharply, shivering beneath Enjolras’ touch, his breathing suddenly faster. Enjolras’ head snapped up and he snatched his hand back, but Grantaire caught it before it could get too far, wrapping gentle, almost reverent fingers around his wrist. His eyes, if possible, looked even bluer than usual, completely clear and without the slightest trace of even a single vein. The shadows beneath had been eradicated and his skin was free of even the smallest blemish, even his hair looked softer.

_My blood_ , Enjolras thought, all but in a daze. _It’s the amount of blood he drank from me_.

Slowly, as though expecting Enjolras to yank his hand away any moment, Grantaire brought it to his mouth, pressing soft lips right over Enjolras’ pulse point. In the place, Enjolras realised, where he had bit himself in the park. It was Enjolras’ turn to shiver.

“How are you feeling?” Grantaire asked softly, breath washing over the delicate skin on his inner wrist.

Enjolras cleared his throat, already feeling his face heating beneath Grantaire’s soft gaze, nerve-endings alight from his caressing fingers. 

“Good,” he said, and meant it. “Well rested.”

Grantaire shifted, propping his head up on one of his arms and letting go of Enjolras’ wrist. Before he could reign it in, a small sound escaped Enjolras’ throat at the loss of his touch, but Grantaire merely moved his hand back to Enjolras’ hair, gently brushing a few strands away from his face. It was getting long again, Enjolras thought fuzzily, he should probably cut it.

“You scared the shit out of me, I hope you realise,” Grantaire said, the tips of his fingers sinking into the soft curls right behind Enjolras’ ear and staying there, his palm fitting against the curve of his jaw.

Despite the utter distraction that was Grantaire’s hands, Enjolras still had enough presence of mind to narrow his eyes at that. 

“ _I_ scared the shit out of _you_?” he demanded incredulously. “I thought you were going to _die_!”

Grantaire traced a line against his cheekbone. “Says the one that stood in front of the barrel of a gun, waiting to be shot and then proceeded to almost kill himself giving me blood.”

Enjolras pressed his lips together, but couldn’t help leaning into Grantaire’s touch. “I wasn’t killing myself.”

“Oh really?” Grantaire’s fingers tightened the smallest fraction. “Because that wasn’t what Combeferre and Joly said.”

“They’re exaggerating.”

“I don’t think they were.” There was a small line between Grantaire’s brows. “Care to explain yourself?”

Enjolras sat up abruptly, detangling himself from Grantaire and turning to glare at him. “ _Me_? _I_ wasn’t the one jumping up and taking a bullet in the stomach. How about we talk about that, instead? Because what the fuck, Grantaire?” he hardly, if ever, swore, but when he did, he did so with feeling.

“I don’t think you have any ground to stand on, here,” Grantaire said, an edge of sharpness creeping into his voice, as he followed suit and shifted into an upright position. “I wasn’t the one going from utterly hating the sight of me, to acting as though your world was about to end because I got shot.”

Enjolras chest clenched painfully, and his next words were out before he could swallow them down. “My world _was_ about to end, Grantaire!”

Grantaire jerked back as though Enjolras had slapped him. “Wh-What?”

Enjolras looked away, cheeks aflame. “You heard me.” He glanced sharply at Grantaire, desperate to turn the attention away from himself. “But while we’re on the topic, why did you come? You said you wanted to stand with me - why? You’ve made it perfectly clear, several times and in great detail I might add, that you think we’re all wasting our time and that you don’t believe in a single word I say. So why did you come?”

Grantaire sighed and roughly tugged a hand through his hair. “I came for you, obviously. Just like I always do. I told you, I wanted to be there sooner, but-” he broke off, just as he had back at the square, an unhappy look on his face. “I was so angry, Enjolras. So angry that you wouldn’t listen. I told you it was dangerous and thinking about you wandering straight into that scared me out of my mind. And so I did what I do best, I got absolutely, blindingly drunk and woke up too late.”

“You weren’t too late,” Enjolras said softly. “You saved me. Without you, that woman would’ve killed me.” 

And this time, Enjolras thought, there would have been no second chance. This time he would have not woken again and it would have been with the knowledge that he had fought his feelings for Grantaire every step of the way. That he had wasted all his time on being resentful and invested none in getting to know his mate. It was almost unbearable to admit, unbearable to know how wrong he had been and that it almost _had_ been to late, just as Jehan had told him the day of their argument.

Another thought occurred to him and Enjolras’ eyes widened. 

“Tell me why you did it,” he asked Grantaire, suddenly needing to know the answer. “Was it my fault? Did I provoke you into it because of what I said that time? When you told me I’d see, was this you risking your life to prove a point?” Enjolras was torn between anger and desperation. “Because I didn’t mean it, Grantaire. I should have told you this already and if I could take it back, I would. But I really didn’t mean that. You are so much better than that, I know you are. And I’m certainly not worth the risk you took.”

Grantaire looked dumbstruck. “Enjolras,” he said and for a moment, it seemed as though that was the only thing he _could_ say. 

Enjolras curled his fingers into his palms, clenching tight. The silence was deafening.

“You cannot mean-” Grantaire started and broke off once more, shaking his head as though he was simply unable to process what Enjolras had just told him. “Are you being serious right now? Do you honestly want to tell me you don’t know?”

Enjolras frowned, not having expected that at all. “Know what?”

Grantaire blew out a sharp breath, almost back to looking angry again. His eyes were bright and intent on Enjolras’ face.

“That I’d do anything for you! Die with you, _for_ you,” Grantaire trailed off, not with uncertainty, but at the look Enjolras was giving him. “Oh my god, Enjolras, how can you not know? I’ve been pathetically pining after you for _months_!”

Enjolras had trouble to keep his jaw from dropping. That couldn’t have been meant the way it sounded.

“Grantaire,” he said, bewildered and ready to protest and Grantaire all but threw his arms up in exasperation.

“No, Enjolras, _listen_. I love you. _I’m absolutely in love with you_.” If the world had opened and suddenly swallowed him hole he couldn’t have been more surprised. Grantaire’s eyes stayed fixed on him as he went on. “You asked me why I came and I told you: I came for you. I _always_ come for you. Just you. I might not believe in your cause and I don’t deny that you frustrate the hell out of me with your idealistic naivety, but if there is one thing in this godforsaken world that I believe in, then it’s you. I come to the meetings to see you, I argue with you to get your attention. I bloody worship the ground you’re walking on and there’s nothing, and I mean _nothing_ , that I wouldn’t do for you. I would shine your boots if you asked it of me!”

Enjolras was reeling, is thoughts scattered and whizzing inside his head, unable to come together in any form of coherency. 

“I-I didn’t know,” he stuttered dumbly, all his oratory skills shattered by Grantaire’s impassioned speech. And wasn’t that an interesting turn of events? Enjolras for once on the opposite end, experiencing for the first time what it was like to be silenced this way.

Grantaire snorted, the sound familiar and dripping self-deprecation. “Yeah, I got that.” He fixed Enjolras with a challenging look. “So what’s this about your world ending? What happened out there? Why did you do…all this?” Here, Grantaire made an awkward gesture, waving his hand between them.

Enjolras’ mind was still stuck on what Grantaire had said before, unable to form a single thought beyond that.

“You’re in love with me?” he repeated, knowing he must look wide-eyed and maybe a little deranged.

Grantaire clenched his jaw and Enjolras’ chest tightened. Did he think Enjolras would use this information to mock him? Was he expecting that he would throw the declaration back in his face just like he had done with the insults about his cynicism and alcohol abuse?

“Yes, Enjolras, I love you. I think we’ve established that fact. I still don’t know how you didn’t notice, but you never payed me much attention in the first place beyond yelling at me during an argument that is, so maybe it shouldn’t come as such a surprise to me. I just thought that maybe someone might have told you by now.”

“What do you mean, someone might have told me?” Enjolras asked. “Are you saying that other people know?”

Grantaire gave him a weird look. “They all know. I told you, I’ve been pining for months - a year now, almost. And I sure as hell wasn’t subtle about it. They were all trying to tell me that it’d be okay and that I should just give it some time - utter bullshit of course, but I guess the thought counts.”

It was hard containing the complete horror that crashed over him when realisation finally hit. Unable to face the word for even a moment longer, Enjolras hid his face in his palms, something he couldn’t remember doing in another person’s presence since he was still human, still a child, and his father had told him off for crying and claiming that men weren’t allowed to.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire sounded alarmed, concerned, and Enjolras could feel the bed shift as Grantaire leaned slightly closer.

Enjolras shook his head, unable to cope with any of it just yet. He pressed his face deeper into his hands.

He thought of Combeferre telling him right at the start that the pull was mutual, even for humans. He thought of Courfeyrac and Jehan, the way Jehan had slotted so easily into place at Courfeyrac’s side even without them having settled their bond yet. He thought of Eponine who’d only had eyes for Marius when they first met, but was now smiling more than Enjolras had ever seen her do in the months he had known her now that she was with Combeferre.

Enjolras thought about everyone telling him that he was being stupid, but refusing to listen because he was a stubborn, selfish idiot who even after centuries couldn’t accept the fact that things didn’t always go his way - as much as he fought to make it so.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire said again, closer now, and the edge of alarm sharper. “I’m sorry, I-”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Enjolras forced out, the words muffled slightly by his palms. “Don’t you dare apologise to me.”

Grantaire fell silent and it took Enjolras a moment to realise how hat must have sounded. Could he never do _anything_ right with this man? 

Finally taking his hands away, Enjolras looked at Grantaire’s hurt expression and knew that he had done exactly the opposite of what he had wanted to achieve. _Again_.

“What I _meant_ ,” Enjolras said quietly, firmly, reaching out a slightly shaking hand to take Grantaire’s warmer one. “Is that it should be me doing the apologising.”

Grantaire glanced down at his hand, then back to his face, looking confused and guarded. “What are you talking about?”

Enjolras chose his words very carefully. “It wasn’t bullshit. When they told you all you had to do was give it some time.”

Grantaire was tense as a bow-string. “What are you saying?”

Enjolras squeezed his hand. “I’m saying that I’m sorry. And that I’m an idiot. And I’m saying that if you don’t forgive me I won’t know what to do.”

“Seriously?” Grantaire almost seemed to choke on the word, his hand now gripping back tightly. “I mean, are you telling me that- But you _hate_ me!”

Enjolras let loose a desperate sound, something between a laugh and a sob. “God, Grantaire, I don’t hate you. There really aren’t enough words to tell you how much I don’t hate you. You frustrate me, you infuriate me - but mostly because you drive me absolutely crazy.”

“ _I_ drive _you_ crazy?” Grantaire echoed incredulously.

“Utterly and completely,” Enjolras said. “I thought I was losing my mind these past few months. I almost did.”

“But,” Grantaire looked lost and Enjolras ached to hold him. “I don’t understand.”

“I was fighting it. I was fighting so hard not to love you, but” Enjolras shook his head. “Combeferre has been telling me for centuries that it doesn’t work like that. I didn’t believe him, of course, but he’s right. It doesn’t work like that. All this fighting - with you, with myself - it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Never has. My brothers, my coven, I love them and I’d be lost without them, but with you.” He paused, unable to find the right words to express the enormity of what he was feeling, but then settling on Grantaire’s own from before. “With you I feel as though my world would end if you’re not with me.”

At that, Grantaire’s face crumbled and in the next moment, he had launched himself into Enjolras’ arms. Enjolras caught him and held him tight, the relief he felt so profound that his head was spinning with it.

“Oh my god, you utter _bastard_ ,” Grantaire all but sobbed into his neck. Enjolras could feel wetness on his skin and his eyes stung viciously in return. “I thought I was dying from wanting you, I couldn’t do anything but drink myself into oblivion and draw you over and over and over until my fingers were aching. My and Jehan’s flat is covered in my stupid drawings, the walls lined with canvases of your stupid face. If it weren’t for Jehan, I would’ve burned them all already, several times over.”

Enjolras tucked his nose into the soft spot behind Grantaire’s ear, filling his lungs with his scent and trying not to squeeze him too tightly. 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he murmured. “I’d like to see them.”

Grantaire pressed in closer, painting Enjolras’ skin with his tears and gave a choked laugh. “I don’t think so. Your ego really doesn’t need any more of a boost.”

“I do, when it’s from you.” Enjolras traced a line down Grantaire’s spine with his fingers and felt him shiver under his touch.

“God, I don’t believe you,” Grantaire sighed, his breath hot where it hit Enjolras’ neck.

“I don’t believe me, either,” Enjolras said softly and drew back reluctantly, seeking Grantaire’s gaze. “I know it sounds stupid, but I never meant to hurt you. I want you to know that.”

“It’s alright.” Grantaire smoothed his hands over Enjolras’ t-shirt, straightening it across his shoulders as though he needed an excuse to touch him. “I can’t really bring myself to care about any of that right now. Not when we’re like this.” Enjolras smiled at him, bright and open for once, and watched Grantaire’s breath stutter. “Jesus, one would think I would’ve gotten used to your face by now, but you’re still so fucking beautiful every time I look at you.”

Enjolras ducked his head, face hot, but the smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth. “My stupid face?”

Grantaire cradled said face with gentle hands, his palms curving around Enjolras’ jaw and tilting his head towards Grantaire’s lips. They brushed against his cheekbone, whisper soft. 

“Shut up,” he murmured fondly.

Enjolras tipped his head back further, leaning into the caress and Grantaire repeated the gesture on the other cheek, before coming to hover over his mouth, his breath hot and close across Enjolras’ lips, making him ache with want. 

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asked him softly.

Enjolras’ breath hitched. “ _Yes_.”

He expected more force this time, the fire in his chest spreading through his body and pooling in his stomach. But when Grantaire’s lips found his, it was just as soft as before - full of worship and reverence. Even so, Enjolras shuddered and gasped, pressing closer and seeking more contact. Grantaire made a desperate sound at the back of his throat and captured Enjolras’ bottom lips between his, sucking gently - a gesture that went straight to Enjolras’ cock and made him clutch at Grantaire’s shoulders, his fingers convulsing slightly, before sliding up and into Grantaire’s wild hair. It was indeed softer than before, more pliant to the touch and Enjolras buried his fingers in it to anchor him in place. There was no need, though, for Grantaire wasn’t going anywhere.

His lips shifted, taking Enjolras’ top lip next and briefly giving it the same treatment. Enjolras, so conveniently presented with the opportunity, couldn’t help but graze his teeth across Grantaire’s lip, careful not to nip too hard and break the skin. His teeth were sharper than human ones, even with his fangs retracted and he could feel his gums tingling as they fought to come out. He’d felt it in Grantaire’s presence before, but it was still strange to suddenly be unable to control something you had always been able to in the past. Desire and hunger had never connected before, as they did now, and Enjolras could practically see Courfeyrac’s smug smile in his mind.

The thought was swept away a moment later by Grantaire’s tongue brushing against his mouth, making Enjolras’ lips part on a choked off gasp. This time, there was no restraint and Grantaire’s desperate groan was swallowed by their mouths as he licked his way into Enjolras’ mouth. Slightly out of his depth, but incapable of any sort of thought, Enjolras, for once, followed purely on instinct, meeting the tongue with his own and trembling at the overwhelming sensation of hot and wet and _oh my god I want you so much_.

Enjolras’ cock was straining his pants, aching in its confines and harder than he could ever remember. He was clutching Grantaire close, pressing against him as Grantaire licked deeper into his mouth, his tongue curling in a way that had Enjolras feel as though there wasn’t enough air in the world even though he didn’t need it. Grantaire’s tongue brushed the back of his teeth, the tip accidentally grazing the gums right over one of his canines. Heat shot down Enjolras’ spine, exploding in his stomach and he just about managed to wrench himself free before his fangs shot out, barely avoiding sinking into Grantaire’s bottom lip.

He clapped a hand over his mouth, as though he was a child that had sad something terribly indecent, his cheeks flaming. Grantaire blinked, looking utterly bewildered for a moment. His hair was a mess, his lips red and wet and his blue eyes wide as they stared at Enjolras in shock. He blinked again, obviously trying to get a hold of himself.

“Are you- What’s wrong?”

“Teeth,” Enjolras said tightly, forcing the word out and trying not to clench his jaw.

Grantaire looked at him for another second, before comprehension spread across his face. His mouth formed a perfect _oh_ , lips still very red and very inviting.

“Is that- I mean, can I see?”

Enjolras did his best not to shy away further. They were still close, but no longer touching and there could have been a whole ocean between them, for how cold the distance suddenly felt. He didn’t move his hand, locked in a fight with himself to get his fangs to retreat. It was ridiculous, really, but Enjolras felt exposed, stripped of his control in a way that had never happened before he met Grantaire. Control was what defined him, it was what gave him confidence. Without it, he felt raw and helpless and completely at sea. It made him feel strange, unlike himself, and insecure. It was deeply upsetting after having spent several centuries completely sure of himself.

“Enjolras?” And now Grantaire looked unsure as well and that wasn’t what Enjolras wanted.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his spine and finally let his hand drop, meeting Grantaire’s eyes with a defiant raise of his chin. Grantaire reached for him again, back to being careful, cupping his cheek. Enjolras sighed a little in relief, leaning into the touch and feeling his tight muscles relax the barest fraction. Grantaire must have felt it as well and took it as his permission to lean in once more. He withdrew his hand to brush a brief, absent caress to Enjolras’ chin.

“Can I touch them?”

Unable to make his throat work, Enjolras nodded and held very, very still as Grantaire’s index finger brushed a tentative line against his left fang. Enjolras knew they were sensitive, of course, but that didn’t even begin to describe what he felt when Grantaire touched them. He also knew he must have been very obvious, his eyes glazing over with desire as his shoulders trembled, both with desire and the effort to keep still.

Grantaire’s breathing was loud in the silence of the room, coming in quick, hot bursts that washed over Enjolras’ face as he leaned in close once more. Enjolras’ eyes snapped up to his, taking in the dilated pupils and knowing that in contrast to Grantaire, he had simply stopped breathing altogether. Grantaire leaned in, intention clear.

“Careful,” Enjolras warned, but it came out more as a plea than a demand.

Grantaire was careful, achingly so, bringing their lips together once more and coaxing Enjolras back into a kiss. He was very good at what he was doing, Enjolras could tell despite his complete lack of experience, and for a moment the bitter taste of jealousy was back - thinking of all the people Grantaire must have practiced his skills on - but the thought only lasted until Grantaire’s tongue was back in his mouth.

Enjolras was still cautious, barely daring to move, his fangs suddenly feeling too big and constantly in the way. Grantaire stroked his cheek, his throat and then down his arm, taking his hand and sliding their fingers together, forcing Enjolras’ to unclench his hand.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire murmured gently, brushing a caress against his wrist. “Relax.”

Enjolras huffed out a humourless laugh. “I’m not very good at that as you might have noticed.”

Grantaire nudged their noses together, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and a suddenly mischievous glint in his eye.

“I think I can help you with that.”

Enjolras’ lips curved into an answering smile, baring his teeth further. “You think?”

Grantaire’s eyes were fixed on his mouth, looking anything but put off. 

“Oh definitely,” he murmured, leaning in to nip at Enjolras’ lip with blunt, human teeth. Then he kissed him again, deliberately tonguing the back of one of his fangs.

Enjolras moaned and kissed back, suddenly hungry, his stomach tight with want. Grantaire curved a hand around the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair and tugging him closer, deeper into the kiss. Enjolras followed without thought, letting himself be guided for a change, winding his arms around Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire’s other arm snaked around his waist, drawing him in with a soft ‘C’mere’. He let himself fall back against the pillows, taking Enjolras with him, his thighs parting to cradle his hips.

Their cocks met through two layers of clothes, hard and hot and Enjolras pushed down without thought, licking the roof of Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire groaned, lips parting further for Enjolras’ tongue, his grip on his waist shifting as he clutched Enjolras’ hip and drew him in, hard, his own body curving upwards to meet the thrust, grinding against Enjolras _just so_.

Enjolras moaned and remembered to let go of Grantaire’s hair, fingers curling into the sheets instead and feeling the fabric straining beneath his gip. He could smell sweat, could feel it building on Grantaire’s body where their chests were pressed together, he wanted to taste it. Grantaire’s hands gripped his shoulder blades, fingers digging in briefly as they met in another thrust, before running down, down along his spine past the waistband of his jeans. When his palms curved around his arse, gripping him tightly and drawing him into the next thrust with a sharp, uncontrolled tug, Enjolras’ mind all but short circuited.

There was the distant sound of sheets ripping and then the sweet taste of Grantaire’s blood exploded on his tongue. For one long moment, Enjolras was too far gone to pull back, his mouth closing around the cut one of his fangs had sliced into Grantaire’s bottom lip and sucking hard. Beneath him, Grantaire was shaking, making small, desperate sounds in the back of his throat, sounding as though he was dying and writhing on the now by now sweat-slick sheets and pushing up against him, briefly grappling for purchase against Enjolras’ back before clutching at the hem of his shirt, yanking it up across his back in the process.

Cool air hit his spine, a sharp contrast to Grantaire’s burning body and Enjolras’ senses slammed back into him. He tore his mouth away, head swimming with the drug that was Grantaire’s blood and every one of his nerve-endings on fire.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, sounding breathless and hoarse. “God, I’m sorry.”

He meant to scramble off, to put some distance between them, but Grantaire held on tight, curling one leg around his and the other around his hip to secure him into place.

“No, don’t stop,” Grantaire sounded almost frantic and he looked wrecked. Hair plastered to his forehead, his chest rising in huge gulps of air and his eyes wide and dark, only a slim blue rim left around the edge. His lips were wet with blood, the cut still bleeding and looking raw from Enjolras’ thoughtless treatment. 

Enjolras wanted to protest, but Grantaire kept on babbling, clutching at him.

“It’s fine, I promise, it’s good. So good, Enjolras, please don’t stop.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Enjolras confessed, desperately out of his depth and the lingering taste and smell of Grantaire’s blood cloying his senses.

Grantaire licked his lips, smearing the blood and all but driving Enjolras insane. “Trust me, it doesn’t feel like that from where I am.”

Unable to resist, Enjolras leaned in and ran the tip of his tongue over the cut, carefully this time, and built up some of the numbing agent in his saliva to take the sting away and stop the bleeding.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Enjolras said against his lips.

Grantaire’s breath hitched and he tilted his head up to brush their lips together in a lingering kiss. 

“You’re not,” he said. “You’re really not.” He brushed Enjolras’ wild curls back from his face and looked up at him intently. “I want more. Please, I want you to-”

Enjolras gripped the sheets tightly for lack of something else to hold onto without the fear of causing pain. “No.”

Grantaire’s mouth turned down a little. “Why not?”

Enjolras shook his head, accidentally spilling golden hair over Grantaire’s face and forced to move back slightly so not to tickle him. “Grantaire, I’m not- not used to this. To being out of control. I could seriously hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Grantaire drew him back in, despite the curtain of wild hair. “I know you won’t.”

Enjolras came willingly, unable to keep himself from leaning back in. “Grantaire,” he protested, though even he knew that it was rather weak by his standards.

Grantaire kissed him again, cradling his face. “Please,” he said into his mouth. “Enjolras, please.”

There was no resisting him. It was unfair, terrifying even, but Enjolras couldn’t have refused him anything in that moment - probably wouldn’t be able to refuse him anything ever again, not when Grantaire looked at him like this.

When Enjolras shifted, his still achingly hard cock ground against Grantaire’s, their resulting moans lost in their kiss. They kissed deeply, filthily and Enjolras had to draw back to keep his senses at least halfway intact. He let his lips slide across Grantaire’s cheek, his jaw and, finally, his neck. Grantaire tilted his head, baring his throat. Enjolras sucked in a sharp breath and took the time to press several soft kisses to the soft skin there, building up some more saliva and inhaling the sweet scent of Grantaire’s blood and feeling his elevated pulse throbbing right beneath his skin.

Opening his mouth against the softness of Grantaire’s neck, Enjolras kissed the spot beneath his lips right where the beat of his pulse was strongest. He let his tongue dart out and carefully coat the spot. Even so. 

“This might sting a little.”

Grantaire cradled his head, fitting the curve of his palm around his skull and making small, soothing circles in his hair with his fingers. “It’s fine.”

Enjolras could feel himself shaking and Grantaire cradled him closer, pressing a kiss against his ear. Taking another deep breath, Enjolras leaned in and let his teeth sink into Grantaire’s neck, the soft skin giving easily under barely any pressure at all. He carefully urged them in a little deeper.

Grantaire’s blood flooded his mouth, burning down his throat and pooling like liquid fire in his stomach. He couldn’t help his hips from moving, unrestrained, grinding them down fast and hard and sliding Grantaire up across tattered sheets. Grantaire’s fingers clawed against Enjolras’ back, his arse, digging in deep as he arched to meet him. Enjolras’ vision swam and he had to close his eyes. Someone was making small, desperate noises and he thought it might have been him, for Grantaire’s moans were deep and clear, filling the room and turning ever so slightly higher with every thrust of their hips, with every gulp of Enjolras’ straining throat.

It all blurred together, the sweet blood, the pleasure, the sounds Grantaire was making as he shuddered to pieces beneath him, holding onto Enjolras as though he would lose himself if he didn’t. When orgasm slammed into him, it was as though he had been lit on fire. His teeth clamped down against soft skin, making Grantaire moan, broken and hoarse and final, the scent of his release mixing with the sweet smell of his blood and shoving Enjolras across the edge in waves of almost painful pleasure.

When the haze finally cleared - red, always red - Enjolras was still shaking, and so was Grantaire, his breath bathing Enjolras’ shoulder in hot, quick bursts of air. Enjolras licked his lips, sticky with blood, and found that his fangs had finally retreated. Managing to scramble onto his elbows, Enjolras rose on still trembling arms, desperate to make sure Grantaire was alright.

He was, for the most part. His heartbeat was strong, if still hopelessly racing just as his breath, and his face was flushed with colour. His neck, however, looked like a war zone and Enjolras blanched when he saw it.

Grantaire blinked up at him with hazy eyes.

“Stop looking so appalled,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “Except…if you didn’t enjoy that?”

“If I-” Enjolras gave him an incredulous look and managed to fold his legs into a kneeling position beside him. “You’re worried that _I_ didn’t enjoy myself? Look at what I did to you!”

Grantaire sighed and visibly tried to suppress a small wince as he shifted. “You didn’t do anything to me. Or rather, you did exactly what I wanted you to do and I want you to do it again as soon as possible if that’s alright with you. So if that’s your only objection, could you please come back here so I can kiss you? I don’t think I can move just yet.”

Enjolras did come back, peering anxiously into Grantaire’s bright blue eyes. “Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?”

Grantaire laughed at him. “Jesus, Enjolras, I’m fine. You sound like Joly. Will you be like this every time?”

Enjolras scowled at him, not at all amused. Grantaire, the bastard, smiled at him.

“Let me have a look at you neck,” Enjolras demanded, finally feeling more like himself once more.

“Of course, oh great Apollo,” Grantaire mocked, though the smile was still there and his eyes were soft and fond.

Enjolras only scowled harder. “Don’t call me that,” he snapped, automatic and complete with the usual sharp edge. 

Immediately regretting his tone, Enjolras leaned down to brush a fleeting kiss of apology, to Grantaire’s lips. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Grantaire caught the words with his mouth, before drawing back and letting Enjolras tip his head to the side with his finger to better examin his neck. Enjolras’ jaw tightened at the sight, but, at closer inspection, it wasn’t as bad as he’d  first thought. Wordlessly, he ducked his head to clean the wound, stopping the still sluggish bleeding.

Grantaire was drawing lazy circles into the bare skin of his back, his t-shirt rucked up somewhere around his stomach, letting Enjolras fuss over his neck.

“Satisfied?” he asked, when Enjolras finally deemed the wound clean enough and drew back to look at him.

Enjolras didn’t deign that with a reply, instead shifting off Grantaire and lying down at his side. Grantaire turned to face him.

“You’ve still got” he trailed off, gesturing at Enjolras’ face.

Enjolras’ hand shot up to wipe at his mouth, but Grantaire caught his hand with his, sliding their fingers together.

“Let me,” he said softly and before Enjolras could protest, he had leaned in, his tongue darting out to swipe against his chin, licking off the sticky remains of his own blood on Enjolras’ skin.

Enjolras’ breathing hitched, a shiver racing down his spine and his cock twitching with a bolt of sharp pleasure.

“God, Grantaire you’re trying to kill me.”

Grantaire drew back long enough to grin at him, before moving back in and kissing him, sharing the taste of his blood. Enjolras squeezed his hand, drawing him deeper into the kiss.

“If it’s any consolation, I think we can take equal credit for that.”

Enjolras nipped at his lip, careful not to pierce the skin. “We need a shower.”

“And new sheets.”

Enjolras flushed, which only prompted Grantaire to kiss him again.

“God, if I tell anyone how adorable you really are, no one will believe me.”

“Shut up.”

Grantaire laughed and wrapped him up in his arms, squeezing tightly. Enjolras turned his head to bury his nose in his hair, greedily inhaling his scent.

For a while, they simply lay there in comfortable silence, Enjolras playing with Grantaire’s hair and Grantaire planting light, random kissed to whatever part of Enjolras he could reach without moving too much. 

Outside the window, the light had changed since Enjolras had woken and Notre Dame stood silent and sure as ever, the sky above still a steely grey, promising more rain to come.

“So, this mating thing,” Grantaire said at length, his words slightly muffled in Enjolras’ neck. “How does it work, exactly?”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t stop twisting one of Grantaire’s curls around his finger, the dark hair a sharp contrast to his pale skin. “We don’t have to talk about that right now.”

“I know, but I want to.” Grantaire shifted slightly, drawing back enough to be able to look at Enjolras without getting cross-eyed. “I know that the others, Eponine and Combeferre, and even Jehan and Courfeyrac; I know they’re taking it slow, but I,” He broke off, gaze dropping to Enjolras’ collar and plucking at it with his finger.

Enjolras covered his hand with his own, drawing Grantaire’s eyes back to his. “What?”

“I don’t want that, Enjolras. Except if you do, obviously,” Grantaire added that last part hastily and swallowed before going on. “But what I mean to say is that, if it was for me, I wouldn’t want us to wait even another minute.”

Enjolras regarded him silently for a moment. “You do realise that this won’t change who we are? I’ll still be stubborn and work too much and want to change the world. And we’re still going to fight. A lot.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, his fingers curling around Enjolras’ and squeezing. “But, Enjolras, I’ve never liked my life, never much liked anything in it, including myself. I’ve never had a future, before, never really thought I could have one. And I’ve never really wanted anything either, certainly not the way I want you and now that I know I can have you, I want to hold onto you with everything I am. I don’t need this to be perfect, I only need it to be with you.”

Enjolras could barely contain the feelings exploding in his chest. He drew Grantaire close, kissing him fiercely.

“I want it, too.” And he did, so very, very badly. “But Grantaire, this is permanent. You have to be absolutely sure that this is what you want - and I know that right now you think it is but - No, don’t argue, let me finish.” Grantaire closed his mouth again, but kept on frowning. “All I’m saying is that we should agree on a compromise. It’ll be good practice for the years to come.” That got a reluctant smile from Grantaire and Enjolras leaned in to steal a quick kiss. 

“Give me a few days,” Enjolras went on. “Let’s say ten. So I can get some affairs in order and talk to the others. Settling the bond isn’t something that can be done in a night, we’ll need at least a week, if not longer, in seclusion. And I don’t want to stay in the house. I have a flat in New Paris that we can use. And you will take those ten days to think this through. Ask some of the others, talk to Jehan, and think about it. Because no matter what you decide, it won’t change the fact that I’m yours now, alright? So even if you don’t want the bond,” Enjolras had to swallow at that, his throat dry and his grip on Grantaire tightening unconsciously. “Or if you decide you want to wait a little, after all, I’ll still be here.”

Grantaire sighed and shook his head, looking exasperated but fond. “Ten days won’t change anything, but if it’ll make you feel better, then fine. Let’s do it.” He looked at Enjolras then, suddenly uncertain. “But that doesn’t mean that we, you know, go back to the way things were before? I mean, taking ten days doesn’t mean I won’t be allowed to see you, right?”

Enjolras’ eyes widened. “God no, of course it doesn’t mean that.” He stroked a few wayward curls from Grantaire’s forehead. “I don’t want to go a day without you anymore, not after all this. You can see me whenever and however long you like. And you can sleep here, if you like.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “If I like?” he said incredulously. “Are you serious? You better mean that, Enjolras, because I’m going to take you up on that offer.”

“Of course I mean it,” Enjolras said with all the conviction he was so famous for.

“And you really want that?” Grantaire asked, looking suddenly vulnerable and terribly young. “Really want me?”

Enjolras drew him close, holding on tight. “I really, really do.”

Grantaire caught his lips in a deep kiss, effectively distracting Enjolras from the mess that was his bed and their clothes. Grantaire skilfully rolled them over, pressing Enjolras into the ruined sheets and curling his tongue into his mouth, easily finding the spot behind Enjolras’ retracted fangs that made everything in his mouth tingle with heat. They kissed until Grantaire was breathless, until Enjolras’ fangs were almost threatening to shoot out once more and until the uncomfortable way their clothes stuck to their bodies couldn’t be ignored anymore.

“Okay that’s it,” Enjolras said, trying to blink away the lingering dizziness from Grantaire’s kisses and gently pushing at him to keep them from getting distracted again. “Shower, now.”

“He says when he’s not even the one able to sweat.” Grantaire plucked one of the pillows they had managed to throw from the bed off the floor and playfully shoved it in Enjolras’ face.

Enjolras shoved it right back, before rolling off the bed. “You can go first.”

Grantaire let himself be tugged up and off the bed, using the momentum to slide his arms around Enjolras’ neck and stealing another kiss. “I don’t have a change of clothes. Or did you plan on leaving me with only a towel?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You can have some of mine. And then we can go to your flat and get some of your things, and I can look at all those paintings of my stupid face.”

Grantaire flushed adorably and Enjolras laughed, kissing his cheek.

“You’re not going to let that go anytime soon, are you?” he grumbled.

Enjolras gently tugged at a loose, dark curl. “When have you ever known me to let anything go?”

Grantaire leaned in and nudged Enjolras’ jaw with his nose, before pressing in close and burying his face there. “As long as you don’t let go of me again, I can live with that.”

Enjolras closed his eyes and cradled him close. “Never.”

And he’d never meant anything more in his very long life.


	2. Bonus Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some pointless fluff and humour.

* * *

“Okay, so I’ve packed a small bag with things you might need. There’s also a first aid kit in there! Just in case, you know, one can never be too careful,” Joly said, thrusting the toiletry bag at Grantaire, who took it with a grin.

“They’re not leaving for a year-long trip around the world, Joly. They’ll only be gone a week,” Courfeyrac laughed, his arm around Jehan, who was smiling brightly. He glanced over at Enjolras and gave him a wink.

Enjolras, who was standing by the kitchen window with his hip pressed into the edge of the counter, shook his head at them all.

“Yes I know, but they won’t be able to go out at all! One has to be prepared for any possibility!” Joly was insisting, vibrating with his usual nervous energy.

Bossuet patted his arm. “It was very thoughtful of you.” To which Joly smiled brightly, temporarily distracted and leaning over to press a kiss to Bossuet’s cheek.

“I hope someone remembered to pack lots of lube,” Courfeyrac snickered. 

“Courf!” Jehan gasped, hitting Courfeyrac’s arm in outrage.

Enjolras’ cheeks were flaming and Grantaire was almost bent in half laughing, which was mostly drowned out by Bahorel doing the same from across the room where he was standing with Feuilly.

Combeferre sighed at them.

“Did we miss something?” Eponine asked with a raised eyebrow, entering the kitchen with Cosette and Marius close on her heels.

“No,” Enjolras said quickly, but Bahorel was still on a roll.

“Courf was just making sure if they’ve packed enough lube,” he choked out, face turning an increasingly alarming shade of red as he fought to breathe.

Feuilly rolled his eyes, shifting to tuck one of his legs under the other from where he was sitting at the counter across from Enjolras.

“I’m glad to see we’re all being mature about this,” Enjolras gritted out between his teeth.

Grantaire sidled over to him, depositing the bag on the counter behind Enjolras and leaning in to wrap his arms around his neck. He pressed a kiss to an overheated cheekbone. There was a mischievous glint in his eye that Enjolras saw far too late.

“No worries, I think I packed enough,” he said calmly, though his grin was quick and sharp.

Courf and Bahorel were _howling_ and Enjolras shoved at Grantaire, trying to dislodge him in indignation. Grantaire, however, didn’t budge and instead only leaned in to kiss him again.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he said, laughing softly. “Besides, you look adorable when you blush.”

Enjolras glared at him, but drew him in anyway, giving a gentle squeeze. “Very funny.”

Behind them, Cosette and Eponine had joined into the conversation and Enjolras didn’t have to look to see that Marius was reddening, even though he could hear him laughing with Bahorel.

Seizing the opportunity of having their friends otherwise occupied, Enjolras looked searchingly at Grantaire’s face.

“Are you still sure about this?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I already told you ten days ago that this was what I wanted, but you had to be your usual, stubborn self about it.” He gave Enjolras a squeeze. “I’m just glad I can stop taking those stupid iron tablets now that Joly insisted I take.”

 Enjolras shifted so his back was to the counter and Grantaire took the invitation to crowd him against it. 

“They were good for you,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire tucked a wayward, golden curl behind Enjolras’ ear. “Why? You hardly took any blood anyway.”

Enjolras pressed his lips together. “I took more than I should have and you know it, seeing as it was you who constantly seduced me into it.”

Grantaire looked at him with his intensely blue eyes and lowered his voice in a way that made it sound like a physical caress. “I would’ve seduced you into more than that, if you hadn’t been so stubborn about it.”

Enjolras shivered, but raised his chin in defiance. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m not that delicate, Enjolras,” Grantaire protested.

“Compared to me, you are,” Enjolras said firmly. His next words, however, were far less so and came out uncharacteristically hesitant. “Are you sure you’re alright with… all of this? The seclusion? Being locked up for a week?”

Grantaire gave him that particular look, the one that declared Enjolras completely insane. “Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “We’ll be locked away for at least a week having passionate, non-stop sex resulting in me being bonded to you for life and you’re asking me if I’m okay with that?”

Enjolras flushed. “It won’t just be sex.”

“No, but it will be me having you completely to myself.” Grantaire curled a hand around the back of Enjolras’ neck, fingers brushing his skin in an absent caress. “God, I can’t believe no one’s ever had you like this before. I think I still haven’t quite wrapped my mind around that bit. Actually, I don’t think one week will be enough.”

“One week is just the beginning,” Enjolras said softly, leaning into his touch. “You’ll have the rest of our very, very long lives to claim me in any way you wish. Although you don’t have to.” He brushed Grantaire’s cheek. “Because I told you, I’m already yours.”

Grantaire made a soft sound somewhere on the back of his throat and surged forward to seize his mouth in a kiss.

“Wow, guys,” Courfeyrac’s voice broke in. “That’s what you’re going away for. No need to christen the kitchen.”

Grantaire drew back and Enjolras, who’d momentarily forgotten their audience, flushed bright red in mortification and sent the most vicious glare in Courfeyrac’s direction.

“Speak for yourself, Courfeyrac,” Enjolras shot back, not willing to take any more teasing without giving as good as he got.

Courfeyrac had the decency to look embarrassed at that and Jehan’s blush rivalled Enjolras’ own.

Marius was cringing slightly from his place next to Cosette, hastily taking a step away from the counter he was leaning against. Eponine looked distantly pained.

“Too much information!” she said. “There are some thing I just don’t need to know, alright?”

“Agreed,” Marius said.

“I think it’s hot,” Cosette chimed in, casually picking another crisp from the pack she’d just opened. “I wouldn’t mind hearing more.”

“Cosette!” Marius gasped, slack-jawed.

Bahorel was back to laughing and Enjolras feared he might bust a gut. Feuilly was using his shaking shoulders as support to lean over and hand Eponine the second pack of crisps.

Combeferre looked pained, his expression clearly spelling out ‘is this really my family?’, though he brightened considerably when Eponine nudged him with her hip.

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, but turned to press a kiss to Grantaire’s head when he leaned into him. This was their family, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.


End file.
